


Pussy Footed

by naity_sama



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, M/M, There is a Cat in Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naity_sama/pseuds/naity_sama
Summary: "Lambert.""Geralt." Lambert looks a bit cagey, his feet squaring as more snow swirls in the courtyard. Something moves under his arm."Lambert…" Geralt's eyes narrow to slivers as he focuses on the squirming under Lambert's cloak.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 190





	Pussy Footed

**Author's Note:**

> Had a quick thought and had a minute to jot it down. Thanks to MajorTrouble on discord for help with the title.

It only takes a few moments for Geralt to realize that there is something amiss. He drops his hug and holds Lambert at arms-length. Lambert's scowl is both more and less scowly than usual. He has one arm holding the front of his battered cloak tightly to his chest, the reins of a tall horse gripped in his other hand.

"Lambert."

"Geralt." Lambert looks a bit cagey, his feet squaring as more snow swirls in the courtyard. Something moves under his arm.

"Lambert…" Geralt's eyes narrow to slivers as he focuses on the squirming under Lambert's cloak.

"Geralt." If anything, Lambert is growing even more stubborn. The thing in his cloak is now squirming madly, forcing Lambert to actively try and contain it. The sound of claws scrabbling on leather is a precursor to Lambert's shouted swear, and whatever it is forces its way out of the neckline of the cloak. It's….Can it be?

"Lambert, that's a  _ cat." _ The cat turns its mottled brown head in Geralt's direction, luminous green eyes slowly widening as Lambert rests a hand on the back of its neck.

"Yes, it's a Cat. I  _ know _ it's a Cat, Geralt." Lambert brings both arms up to support the little beast after trying unsuccessfully to shove it back into his cloak. His gloved fingers rub absently through its fur and Geralt marvels.

"A cat."

"A Cat."

Geralt feels like he's missing something, here. There is a cat in Lambert's cloak. Except for when Geralt had smashed it between their bodies, it seems quite content in Lambert's arms. In all the years Geralt has been alive, he's never seen anything like it. He's dumbfounded.

"A cat."

"Are you dim? I already said he's a Cat. Quit giving me grief and help me put the fucking horse up, dumbass." Lambert shoves the reigns at Geralt and strides towards the stables. Geralt can only follow his brother's muttered curses, the tired horse behind.

In the stables, Geralt ties the horse and moves to remove its gear. Roach nickers sleepily from the next stall. The horse carries far more bags than Lambert usually takes with him on the path. More than Geralt does, even. 

"When'd you get a horse, then?" Geralt tries. Lambert rarely travels by horse, preferring his own feet to carry him. 

"Came with the Cat." Lambert is busy arranging the bags to be carried into the keep, taking care to separate them into two piles. The cat has been tucked back into the cloak, where a single slitted eye watches the proceedings. Geralt goes to grab a wrapped bundle from the horse's back and knows, by the touch alone, that it is a pair of Witcher's blades. Lambert's are still strapped upon his back. He wordlessly hands them off to his brother. Something is going on here. 

Geralt settles the horse in a stall and grabs the pile of Lambert's bags he's directed to. They trudge into the keep together. Lambert had been sighted on the trail the previous morning, and Eskel had been intent on a large dinner for their reunion. An entire, if somewhat small, boar kneeled upon a plank of wood upon the table, fat still sizzling after Eskel had pulled it from the spit. As they drop the bags just inside, Eskel and Vesemir turn as one to look from where they sit at the table. 

Eskel's rugged face breaks into a grin as he heaves himself up. He's readying to fling himself at Lambert, Geralt knows. Lambert is already bracing himself with his arms in front of his chest when Geralt opens his mouth.

"Lambert has a  _ CAT." _ Geralt blurts it like it's something amazing. It's the same awed tone of voice he had once used to show Eskel bugs and frogs and secreted honey buns. Eskel stops in his tracks. Geralt can see his brain processing. Helpfully, he points firmly at Lambert, who is parting the neck of his cloak with a sigh. The cat pops its head out once more, clearly interested in the commotion.

Eskel's eyes blow impossibly wide. He is riveted where he stands, one broad palm out in front of him. Lambert scoffs, loudly, and strides past him to the table. Eskel's glittering eyes follow the cat. Geralt pats his shoulder in understanding and moves to sit. Vesemir is eyeing their youngest wolf thoughtfully. Lambert glares back. His hands cup the cat's body to his chest, but the cat, too, watches Vesemir. It struggles for freedom and Lambert finally allows it to slip from his cloak and onto the table.

The cat is a battered, lean thing, with a thin scar slanted across the bridge of its nose and a notch in one of its pointed ears. It's colored like a wildcat, like perhaps there was wild blood in it a few generations back. Around its neck is a collar forged from silver chain. From the chain dangles a feline head medallion.

"I guess I should introduce you all," Lambert smirks, leaning back on the bench. "This asshole here is my friend Aiden. He's my Cat. He's also, currently, a cat."

Eskel and Geralt can only stare as Vesemir drops his head into his hands. The Cat flicks its tail and looks smug.


End file.
